"Tom just shook his head when I painted the entry hall. The kids tell everyone mummy ran out of purple paint. It's not purple by the way. It's Evening Shadow." I'd barely crossed the threshold and I knew I was going to like her. "Come into the kitchen. Don't mind the mess." If she only knew what my kitchen looked like! I could hear small feet thumping up the stairs and stomping across the floor above. "Don't worry. They're just acting out because I told them to be good while you were here. They'll be down and sweat as pie when they know there is cake." She turned around and smiled, placing a slightly lopsided carrot cake on the table. "How long have you lived here?" I asked. "Feels like forever. It's only been three years. Tea?"

What could possibly be more perfect in an old vicarage than harlequin décor? I'm hoping very hard that this is the work of the people who live there, and not an interior decorator. I appreciate the work of a professional, of course, but I would be frightened of someone who could make a home look this personal.